Impossible Meme; Ceara/Sirius for twitchears
It's not that they're drunk or high or even delusional. There's a few seconds where they're sitting on that couch, facing one another, worlds and wars and fuck-all that Sirius knows of going on outside, those couple of terrifying moments where he thinks he's never thought more rationally in his life.
Things just make sense. The only person who'd seen things like Sirius had seen, who'd been through what he had, who'd experienced that fucked-up family and back and lived to tell the tale. The Blacks had just gotten each other, from the get-go.
They were still in their Quidditch gear, practice run late, The common room was empty save for that one crackling fire when Sirius leaned over and kissed his sister. And kissed. And kissed.
Ceara's fingers threaded into his hair and Sirius breathed deep the smell of sweat and rebellion, common threads between them. His fingers tightened, painfully, knuckles whitening on the back of the sofa as he drank her in, inhaled sharp.
Rain kept falling, striking the windows noisily in the silence.
"Sirius," Ceara broke it, quietly, softest Sirius had heard his sister, and it wasn't until she'd started tugging him to his feet that he realized it wasn't just rain from the practice sliding down his face. He felt idiotic. he felt wrong. He felt the most at home that he had in nearly seven years.
"Idiot. Let's get you into dryer clothes."